Something More
by Idgiebay
Summary: Zim disappears from Earth for two and a half years only to re-emerge as an almost entirely different Irken with a deadly plan. . . -Planned ZADR- (ch. 5 up)
1. emptiness

Author's Notes: Yep, I'm writing a slash. This story has been slowly materializing in my head for about two months now and I simply had to write it or risk losing brain tissue from the incessant clawing it's done. This is going to be the only note from me unless it's something really important, so bare with its length. I'm trying to get everything out at once so you can enjoy (I hope) the story without listening to me babble at the beginning of every chapter. ^-^ 

This story is rated for the content (consisting of bad language and suggestive-type thingies) appearing in later chapters, but may go up if I decide to be evil. I'm not going to jump right into slashy goodness, so don't expect to see any of it until at LEAST the third or fourth chapter (chapter two and three will be longer than this one). It may sound cliché in the beginning, but do not fear; I'm a twisted individual who plans on..well, wait..I can't tell you. Sorry! You'll see, in time. ^-^ If I do it right, this story will more than likely turn out dark. Very limited humor here, if any. Please review! I really, really would like some constructive criticism! I think I have a problem with getting emotions across and any helpful advice would be greatly appreciated. I'd also enjoy knowing if you like it so far. Anyway . . . I think I'm done rambling now. 

Disclaimer: This will also be the only time I mention that I do not own Invader Zim or any of the characters appearing in the show, and this goes for all chapters. Don't sue me, I own nothing but the lint in my pocket. No, I don't even own the pocket. 

Warnings: This is slash of the Zim/Dib variety. Possibly foul language in later chapters. 

Enjoy! I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. 

  
**

Something More

**

------  
All my plans fell through my hands  
They fell through my hands on me  
All my dreams it suddenly seems  
Empty   
--Excerpt from "Empty," by the Cranberries  
------ 

- emptiness -

_ I always thought that I'd be the one to drive him away. It would be a wholly sweet sensation, having him exposed to the world, unmasked as the true monster he really is. If he didn't end up on an autopsy table, then he'd flee in terror from being discovered and I would be the one standing proudly on the Earth's soil as the rightful champion in a battle of wits. Finally realizing the immense threat he had posed, people would ultimately give me the just recognition I deserve; they would see the truth, and I truly would have won. _

That's the way it should have happened. But so much for puerile dreams, huh? 

One day, he didn't come to school. No problem, he'd been absent before . . . probably scheming so-called 'doom' for the Earth, conspiring some evil alien plan that I'd inevitably foil in due time. I was itching to see what he'd pull, always up to the challenge of thwarting another plot, reveling in each triumph as it brought me one step closer to his defeat. He didn't show up for school the next day, though. Of course, I was suspicious, but I let it slide until the third day. 

Absent three days? He must have been planning something big . . . maybe dangerously big. Letting curiosity get the best of me, I armed myself with a water gun and began the short walk to his house, cloaked by the darkness of night. Along the way, I became lost it my thoughts. What could he possibly be devising that would render him absent for three days in a row? Must have been something huge, I thought. 

My mind thought up all sorts of crazy nonsense that an equally crazy alien might come up with, from giant mechs to nuclear lollipops, and my legs started moving faster with anticipation. I simply had to know what he was doing. I had to know so I could stop it, so that people would see the truth, so that I would be one step closer to finally getting rid of him, and so that I could relish that delightful little feeling I get when I see him fail time and again. I needed this, needed the drive I experience every time we battle. 

I was pulled from my thoughts upon realizing where I was. I'd passed his house . . . hadn't I? It was hard to miss, with its green aura and unusual lawn decorations, but I must have passed it. I was too far down the block and his house wasn't that far from my own. Retracing my steps, my jaw dropped when I came to his base. 

Or rather, the empty lot between two houses where his base should have been. 

The ground was undisturbed. There were no markings, no holes in the neighbor's walls, nor any single sign that there had once been an abnormally small house there. Had he left without saying anything? No indication of defeat or maniacal laughter proceeded by an, "I'll be back, pathetic human?" It just wasn't right. Or was it? 

Maybe this was victory. Maybe it was what I had fought for so long to accomplish. Perhaps this was a triumph for Earth, but what about me? 

No recognition. People still look at me as the same crazy paranormal geek they've always seen me as. He disappears without warning, the Earth is suddenly saved, and nobody else even knows it. I wonder if they'll ever find out the amount of danger they were in, or if they'll ever realize that I was right all along. I wonder if he'll ever come back. 

I remember slowly sitting down on the sidewalk in front of the abandoned lot, suddenly becoming aware of how chilly the air was that night. All I could think about was the countless research I'd done; the photographs, the endless note taking, the observations, sneaking out late at night to spy on the enemy. Did it all mean nothing, now? Was it just a waste of time? All the evidence I had, all the proof—he was it. Here one minute, gone the next, disappearing without a trace, and I'm left looking like an idiot. 

I don't know why he left, but when he did, something inside of me died . . . possibly the overwhelming impulse I'm known to posses. The paranormal—everything I've studied: I know all of it's true, but his arrival and my relentless pursuance was the closest I came to proving I wasn't some deranged lunatic who didn't know what I was talking about. His disappearance killed that. 

That night, as I sat shivering in the cold, I looked up to the sky and hoped to see something. Maybe a flicker of his ship, darting through the sky like I'd often seen before when looking through my telescope, but all that met my eyes were twinkling stars that mocked me with their distance. For as long as I can remember, I wanted to reach the stars, but all those dreams, all those plans I had . . . For the first time, they seemed so . . . 

Empty . . . 

For a few moments, Dib blankly stared at his latest entry in the journal that held dozens of notes, studies, and plans involving Zim. Involuntarily allowing a sigh to escape, his eyes repeatedly scanned over the last word he'd written, the sum of how he'd been feeling for quite some time now. Shaking his head, he slammed the book shut, threw it in a corner, and lied down on his bed, silently reflecting as he gazed at the ceiling with indifference. 

It had been several weeks since Zim's disappearance and Dib had all but given up on the idea that the alien might return. In an attempt to divert his thoughts and perhaps rekindle old fascinations, Dib began to fallback on his poltergeist and werewolf studies, but it just wasn't the same. He'd never gotten even a glimpse of either ghost or wolf, whereas Zim had been living, breathing proof of life beyond Earth, beyond the stars, even beyond the solar system. It just wasn't fair. 

Dib let his eyes drift to the open window by his bed as he did every night, glaring heatedly at the taunting stars as they danced freely in the sky. Every time he saw a shooting star, his heart skipped a beat and he drew in a sharp breath until he finally realized what it was, afterwards berating himself for being so foolish. He must have seen hundreds of shooting stars in his lifetime, and yet he still couldn't keep himself from jumping up to get a closer look, eyes squinted with determination each time. He simply couldn't help it. 

"I've gotta stop acting like this," he told himself, a realization suddenly dawning on him. "I'm letting him win this way." Dwelling on his own selfish loss was merely giving incentive to believe he was the weaker of the two, and Dib was not about to let Zim win, whether the alien knew of his victory or not. Sitting up, Dib slammed the window shut and forced himself to close the blinds before removing his glasses and snuggling under the blankets. 

"Tomorrow will be different," he promised himself, then closed his eyes and drifted into his subconscious, where all the problems in his life seemed to disappear. 

But the emptiness remained. 

- end chapter 1 - 


	2. deviation

------  
I'm looking through you, where did you go  
I thought I knew you, what did I know?  
You don't look different, but you have changed  
I'm looking through you, you're not the same  
--Excerpt from "I'm Looking Through You," by the Beatles  
------ 

- deviation -

_ The sound of boots swiftly clicking against concrete echoed off of lofty buildings as two figures dashed through the empty streets. One was at an obvious distance behind the other, but slowly closing the gap between himself and the boy ahead, his brown eyes full of determination and vivacity. The crisp wind snaked through his hair and brutally exhaled its frigid breath against his face, slightly numbing him, and yet he remained unfazed. A wide, menacing grin splayed his features; nothing could bring him down from the admitted high he gained during each chase. _

Taking a moment to look over his shoulder, the boy ahead shot his pursuer a vicious glare before veering through an open gate that lead to a bizarre green house. Without a moment's hesitation, he stumbled to the front door, gripped the knob, and began jiggling it vigorously. He repeated this motion several times, then muttered obscenities under his breath. "Of all the times he remembers to lock the door . . ." he grumbled. "GIR!!" A gloved fist struck the door repeatedly. "Open the door RIGHT THIS INSTANT!" A dark, mischievous chuckle was heard, and he turned around to meet the gaze of his enemy . . . his evilly grinning enemy, whose black trench coat was billowing softly in the wind, making him appear much more intimidating than he actually was. 

"Vulnerable, Zim?" the intruder questioned, his voice full of mockery and amusement. 

Behind blue contacts, magenta eyes narrowed as a sneer crossed the features of the disguised alien. "Never." 

This prompted a more lively chuckle to ripple through the trespasser, an annoying guttural sound that abruptly halted when he suddenly sprang forward. 

Zim barely had a moment to blink before he realized the human intended to rush him. 

As luck would have it, the door opened at that exact moment and the two enemies staggered backwards. Light blows were exchanged in a brief struggle for control, until the slightly larger human managed to tackle Zim to the ground, pinning the alien by his shoulders. 

He smiled maliciously. "I've got you now." 

"In your dreams, Dib-human," Zim spat, seething as he suspiciously watched Dib's pale hand disappear into the folds of his coat, emerging with a red balloon swollen with water. 

Although a shudder racked his body, the alien broke into a malevolent grin, glaring at the foolish human who held a water balloon in his hand, the hand that had witlessly released its grip on its captor's arm. "Allow me to wipe that putrid smirk off your face." 

Dib's brow furrowed at his adversary's sudden words, his brain quickly processing that Zim had drawn his tightly clenched fist back in an intimidating fashion. 

He didn't process it quickly enough. 

He had no time to react before the fist bolted forward and . . . 

"Hey, sexy, what are you smiling at?" 

Dib blinked, immediately disconnected from his thoughts by the sensual feminine voice. He shook his head, slowly becoming aware of where he was and what was going on around him. 

Algebra, he thought. Now he remembered . . . he'd arrived at school somewhat early. He had decided to pass the extra time reading a magazine, and since his first period was usually open, why freeze outside? It appeared a few students were beginning to shuffle into the room now, although class had still not begun. 

"Ahem." 

Oh yeah . . . 

He turned his gaze to the normally unoccupied desk beside him, his amber eyes met by the green eyes belonging to a young, blond girl wearing a pretend pouty face. "You never smile at me like that . . ." she teased, then broke into a twisted smile as she leaned over to take a look at the open magazine spread on his desk. Sighing, she rolled her eyes and pulled back. "Are you reading that tabloid shit again?" 

Dib nodded slowly. He felt sort of . . . detached today, more so than usual. Glancing down at the magazine, a small snicker resounded in his head, finding it sickeningly funny that his thoughts always seemed to drift back to Zim no matter what he was reading about, even after all this time. 

All this time, his mind repeated. Gone for two and a half years without a trace. Of course, he didn't dwell on it too much anymore—he wouldn't allow himself to show that kind of weakness—but every time he read about, watched, or personally witnessed any phenomena, he couldn't help but remind himself of the evidence that slipped through his grasp. Not that it mattered much, though. The paranormal just didn't hold his attention like it used to . . . 

Nothing really did. 

A sudden yelp escaped him when he was jabbed in the ribs. He cast a glare to the girl sitting beside him, who stared back just as heatedly, her innocent mask replaced annoyed anger. 

"What the hell is wrong with you today?" 

"Sorry . . ." he mumbled. 

"Jeez! Do you have last night's homework or what?" 

Without hesitation, he pulled a paper from his folder and held it out to her. 

"Christ . . ." she muttered, aggressively snatching the homework away as she took out a pencil and proceeded to copy the answers to her own paper. 

Dib watched her with somewhat bitter fascination, this preppy young girl who could be so disgustingly sweet one minute and treat him like trash the next; this girl who was so pretty and sassy, and popular among other students; this girl who belittled him about everything he did, every chance she got. It was no wonder he found it terribly odd to regard this as his girlfriend. They barely acknowledged each other at school, and when they did, it was usually her reminding him what a geek he was. 

Yeah, a geek with your answers, Cil, he thought with distaste. 

Dib knew very well that he was being used. Cil could always be found flirting with another guy, especially when she knew that he was watching her do so. Although jealousy did occasionally tug at his gut, he never permitted himself to say anything. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he didn't really care about her as much as he allowed himself to believe. He wasn't even sure if he liked her very much . . . Her attention seemed to fill up a bit of the void that had been present for the past two and a half years, but that was as far as his feelings went for her. 

He sighed and continued observing her as she jotted down his homework answers, all while mentally going over their daily routine. She would copy his algebra homework and then possibly meet up at lunch so she could copy his social studies homework. Then they'd meet again at his house to see his English homework, and finally, she would thank him with kisses and teases until she made up some excuse to get out before she was expected to do anything more. There was nothing wrong with it, was there . . ? They were just helping each other out . . . 

Then why did he feel so disgusted with himself? 

As the bell rang, he felt the paper shoved back in his face while Cil got up and retreated to her normal seat in the back of the room, leaving the desk beside him as empty as it was every day. "Lunch for social studies," she said in passing. 

He grunted in response, leaning over to retrieve his math book from his backpack. After the door of the classroom opened, a _click click click_ could be heard. That was strange, Dib thought, because Mr. Barrios always wore tennis shoes and . . . and . . . 

A loud THUD reverberated through the class as Dib's math book hit the floor. 

" I have wonderful news, class!" Mr. Barrios announced, flailing his arms in excitement as he was prone to do whenever he had 'good news.' "A new student will be joining us on our thrilling journey through the world of numbers! Let's all give a hearty welcome to . . ." He gestured to a rather short, green-skinned boy standing next to him. "ZIM!" 

The boy folded his arms and kept his blue eyes downcast, scowling at the floor while an utterly unenthusiastic round of hey's and hi's filtered the room. 

Satisfied with this, Mr. Barrios motioned Zim over to an empty desk in the front row before beginning his morning lecture. "Let's review our fractions . . ." 

As the teacher went on endlessly, Dib could only watch wide-eyed as Zim came near, his heart beating faster with each step the alien took. When Zim took his seat at the desk beside him, Dib still stared, mouth agape, half of him expecting the disguised alien to make some irate comment, the other half _hoping_ that's exactly what would happen. 

However, Zim didn't even regard the human's existence, but merely pulled out a pad of paper and a pencil and hastily began writing things down, the scowl never leaving his features. 

Dib nervously drummed his fingers on the desk, his eyes glued to the alien, badly craving some type of acknowledgement as he bit back the urge to provoke Zim into a response. What is this, he thought. We used to practically devote all our time to outsmarting each other, then he disappears, leaving me the fool, and he has nothing to say? Nothing to gloat about? 

Just as these questions plagued his mind, he desperately wished to find the answers, to challenge Zim in explaining his long absence and expel all the pent up words of anger and hate that he'd never gotten the chance to use. It would have to wait, though . . . he wouldn't make the first move; he wouldn't be the weak one and admit to being . . . to being what? he wondered. Too eager? Too ambitious? Too restless? Quite honestly, he wasn't even sure. 

As the minutes slowly dragged by, Dib only grew more anxious, keeping a constant, suspicious eye on Zim while the alien continued writing incessantly. That's how the rest of the class session went, and when the bell signaling the period's end rang, Zim simply stood, gathered his things, and walked out the door. 

The remainder of the morning went by at an agonizingly slow pace, Dib becoming more impatient by the minute, especially after realizing that Zim wasn't in any of his other classes. When lunch finally rolled around, he scouted the outdoor eating area for any signs of the alien, but his search was cut short when a hand gripped the back of his trench coat and roughly whirled him around. His eyes were greeted by a very irritated Cil. 

"Social studies, remember?" She glared at him expectantly, becoming increasingly annoyed as his gaze wandered over her shoulder. "Uh, HELLO? What the hell are we waiting for?" 

Much to the increasing aggravation of his alleged girlfriend, Dib appeared to be paying no attention. "Have you seen Zim?" 

"Huh?!" 

"Zim..ah..you know, the new kid with the green . . ." his sentence trailed off as said green kid was seen stalking into the school's library. Dib had no choice but to follow. His enemy was obviously up to something and he intended to find out what it was, as well as possibly get some of the answers he desired. As soon as he started walking, though, Cil pushed him back. 

"Where are you going?" 

"I have something important to—" 

"Uh, yeah, you have something important to do," she barked at him. "Something called social studies." 

Determination marked Dib's features as he shook his head, pushing past the blond obstacle that stood between himself and the library. "I'm sorry, I have to talk to someone . . ." 

"Oh, you have to talk to someone, well pardon me," she growled, watching his back as he made his way to the library. "See if I come to your house tonight!" She tossed her hair back and turned on her heel, muttering, "Asshole," as an afterthought. 

When Dib entered the library, the silence was almost deafening in comparison to the boisterous clamor outside. For the most part, the room was empty, harboring only five quiet students, presumably studying diligently over something or another. Dib almost smiled as he noticed one of the five students was Zim. 

His enemy was sitting in the corner farthest from the door, hunched over an open book, hastily scribbling notes on that little pad of his again. Dib approached with caution, anticipating some kind of reaction. Upon receiving none—much to his frustration—he sped up the pace until he was standing right in front of Zim with only the library table between them. 

Still, the alien gave no response to the human's presence. 

"Zim?" 

Still nothing. 

Sighing, he sat down in an empty chair and watched curiously as Zim glanced between the open book and his notes, writing something down every few seconds. 

Dib couldn't take it anymore. "Gods, Zim, aren't you going to say anything?!" 

Slowly, Zim raised his fake blue eyes, his brow furrowing into a heated glare. 

Something about that look unnerved Dib, but he tried everything in his power not to show it. 

"Go. Away." the alien growled through gritted teeth, then returned to his previous task. 

Dib, to say the very least, was taken aback. Not by the statement itself, but by the mere tone with which it was spoken. There was none of the usual pride or annoyance, just pure hostility. It was then he realized that, indeed, something was different. Zim still looked the same, save for possibly growing half an inch, but something in his demeanor had changed. Dib's jaw tightened . . . what was he supposed to say? 

"Is, um . . . is everything all right?" He couldn't believe how lame he sounded. 

Eyes still glancing between book and paper, Zim simply snapped, "Leave me alone." 

After a moment of contemplating the situation and giving up hope that something more might come out of this, the human pushed himself out of the chair and glowered down at the invader, his gaze then falling absently on the open book that Zim seemed so interested in. While he tried to come up with some kind of insult to hurl at his adversary, his eyes unconsciously scanned over the text until he realized what it was that he was reading. "Aflatoxin . . .?" 

Quickly, a gloved hand slammed on the book, drawing it away from the human's view. 

The enemies' eyes locked onto one another, each giving the other the most spiteful look he could manage. Dib's mind carefully processed what he'd read . . . he knew that aflatoxin was a carcinogenic agent, and a deadly one at that. Zim was definitely up to something . . . 

Tearing his eyes away from the alien's, Dib slowly turned around and made his way out of the building, pondering over the actions he should take in finding out the enemy's plans. "I'll infiltrate his base," he decided. "If it's in the same place, that is. Suppose I'll find out tonight . . ." As the words left his mouth, he found himself grinning like an idiot. He suddenly felt a familiar drive pumping through his veins, that same drive he thought had been lost forever. It felt so wonderful to be alive again. 

However, as the day passed on, he couldn't help thinking about how drastically Zim had changed, wondering what could have prompted such departure from the normally paranoid, hard-headed alien he thought he knew. As much as his mind wanted to, he also couldn't dismiss the fact that Zim's words and the loathing tone the Irken had used to verbalize them hurt . . . but that wasn't important right now. 

Humanity needed saving. 

- end chapter 2 - 


	3. vengeance

------  
And I'm not done my tenure here  
My time's not up, I won't give in  
I'll play you at your deadly game  
And I'm so strong I'll win  
--Excerpt from "On the Cusp," by Ellipsis  
------ 

- vengeance -

_ Ah, a regular day . . . It was such a routine task for him to wake up and go to school, taunt the Dib-human, plan world domination, and then go home to put that plan into effect. Such monotony . . . and yet, with the monotony came normalcy and a sense of security and comfort. Nothing had ever disrupted the balance of his life and he saw to it that nothing ever would. Irkens don't deal well with change, after all. _

At its onset, this day was not unlike any other. Having just arrived home from another boring day at "skool," a weary Zim stumbled through the door of his base, slowly peeling off the pieces of his disguise and leaving them randomly on the floor. Thank Irk it's Friday, he thought. He wasn't sure how much more he could take of Ms. Bitters and her doom lectures . . . at least, this time, he felt he'd gotten something out of it for a change. 

In an attempt to teach fifth graders science, Ms. Bitters mentioned certain chemicals and carcinogens, going into great detail on some of their effects: from fatal illness and plagues to deadly explosions, when mixed correctly. Zim took notes, the pure interest and curiosity written plainly across his features. Perhaps he could use this information against the humans, possibly create some type of super weapon to aid in the Earth's destruction . . . to put its inhabitants at his mercy. They would make quality slaves for the Irken Empire, he believed. He would make the Tallest proud . . . 

"The Tallest!" 

How long had it been since he'd reported to the almighty ones? They'd more than likely be interested in his recent discoveries as well as know how utterly close he was to capturing this pathetic filth ball of a planet. Yes, he was so close, he just knew it; so close, he could taste it . . . 

He made his way down to the lab, head held high with pride. He sat in his normal computer chair, punched a few keys on the keyboard he always used, and sat back, waiting patiently as the link to his home planet connected, just as it typically did. At 100%, the computer screen flickered as two familiar faces appeared, exhaling their customary groans which, as always, went unnoticed. 

"My Tallest," Zim saluted, bowing before his leaders, a naïve grin plastered on his face. "You'll be happy to know that I've come up with an INGENIOUS scheme to conquer this miserable little planet! You see, there are these natural chemicals that—" 

He was abruptly cut off by Almighty Tallest Purple, the look on his face obviously disinterested, yet also held some type of concern. "That's . . . wonderful, Zim, really . . ." 

"Zim," Red began, then shook his head and looked at his partner. "You tell him." 

"Wha..? No, you tell him!" 

"You're much more . . . wordier in these . . . wordy-like situation . . . You tell him!" 

"You!" 

As though they were children, the two Tallest nudged at each other, which quickly progressed to a shoving match as they argued over something that was completely lost on the invader. 

Zim watched the entire ordeal unfold on his computer screen, thoroughly baffled by the display his esteemed leaders took part in. "Tell me what . . ?" 

Instantly, the bickering stopped. Red and Purple exchanged nervous glances, silently debating something they refused to voice. 

The small invader's first thought was that something was wrong on his home planet. His equivalent to a heart began to race, blood pumping rapidly through his veins as many questions popped into his head. Had something bad happened? Had a war broken out? Had a planet under Irken rule been seized? It must be something unfortunate, for his leaders never hesitated like this. Before he had a chance to question the matter again, Purple shattered the silence. 

"It's over, Zim." 

This wasn't normal. It wasn't normal at all. 

"…My Tallest?" His senses were totally dead. His heart seemed to stop as a sudden sense of foreboding washed over him. 

Red cut in, shaking his head once again. "Impending Doom II . . . it's all over. Zim, did you know that the other invaders returned months ago? Did you know that the planets they were sent to are now all under Irken rule? Come on . . . you just NOW have an 'INGENIOUS' plan to take over Earth? And exactly how many times have we heard THAT before?" 

Zim was perplexed beyond words. "But," he stammered, "I thought . . . a secret mission . . ." 

Sighing, Purple brought a claw up and gently massaged his temples. "Just stay there, Zim." 

"Stay . . . HERE?" 

"Well, if you insist on coming back to Irk," Tallest Purple paused as a shudder racked through his body, then resumed, "become a civilian. Please." 

"But—" 

"You're not invader material. You never were." 

"…You never will be," Red added. 

You never will be . . . 

The memory of the words cut through him like a knife. Presently, Zim sat behind a table in his underground lab, mulling over _that day_ as a beaker full of cloudy blue liquid boiled over a burner in front of him. Inevitably, his concentration was broken. 

"Master," a tiny voice squeaked. Gir appeared at the other side of the table, wide cyan eyes fixated on the bubbling liquid. "It's blue . . ." 

A pause. 

"I'M GONNA DRINK IT!!" 

"GIR, NO!" Zim promptly stood up and pushed the little robot away. "Do not touch that! Go waste your existence in front of the TV!" 

Cyan turned to red. "Yes, my lord!" 

The alien watched as the defective little SIR unit cart-wheeled into a nearby lift and made its way to the upper levels of the base. 

Gently rubbing his eyelids, Zim sighed, wondering why he brought Gir back to Earth with him or why he hadn't dismantled the robot when he'd learned of its imperfect nature. "Another of the Tallest's jokes . . ." he growled, teeth gritted, jaw clenched firmly. He couldn't help but feel some attachment to Gir, though . . . the SIR had been through a lot with him. Gir was almost like his only friend. 

Zim shook his head. Such thoughts were weak and pathetic. All that mattered right now was the contents of the beaker and the important role it would play in the near future. 

But still . . . he couldn't help think about the two and a half years he'd spent away from Earth, one and a half years of that on time actually spent on Irk due to the distance between worlds. Such wasted time, he mused . . . 

Of course he had become a civilian at his leaders' request; far be it from him to show an ounce of disloyalty. It didn't suit him, however, not one bit . . . he felt so out of place. So after the Tallest had given a public speech to the invaders, officially announcing the plans for Impending Doom III, he decided to approach them with the idea of entering the military once more. Even if he had to go so low as begging. After all, it was his destiny to be an invader. Surely his leaders would not deny him his soul reason for being! 

Once the Tallest were back in their quarters, Zim was—hesitantly—granted an audience with the leaders. When he came to their door, though, he stopped, listening to the voices that drifted through the space where the door hatch was supposed to meet the cold, metal floor. His breath came out shorter and shorter with each word spoken. 

_"Heh! Did you see Zim in the audience today? Had his..ahem..SIR with him, too." _

A chuckle followed. "Oh, you mean his GIR." 

"You think he's figured out by now that I put that thing together out of garbage?" 

"He probably still thinks it's advanced!" 

"I wouldn't put it beyond him! At least the little smeet doesn't bug us anymore, eh?" 

"Yeah, what a pathetic excuse for an invader!" 

"…Tch, what a failure as an Irken." 

"Failure," Zim echoed bitterly. That was the day he decided to return to Earth. Carefully, he picked up the beaker and poured its contents into several test tubes, then proceeded to refill it and set it over the burner once more. "They're the ones who fail to see that I was MEANT to be an invader. But they'll know . . . I'll prove it to them . . . I'll prove it . . ." His voice was distant, cold, determined, a dead shadow of what it used to be. As he corked the test tubes, he ran the plan over and over again in his mind, never once doubting its outcome. 

A menacing grin splayed his features. "I'll win." 

- end chapter 3 - 


	4. tension

------  
So get that look off your face / gimme back my space  
It's better that I run for home, I'm happier when I'm alone  
I'm in pain again 

It's not your spoken word I crave / your advice would send me to the grave  
Sorry that I think aloud / I'm trying to rise above the crowd  
That's in my brain 

Still looking for that ray of sunshine / put a smile upon my face  
Instead off all this tension I can taste  
--Excerpt from "What Do You Want From Me," by the Young Dubliners  
------ 

- tension -

_ Heh, how many times had I walked down this street since the first time he'd come to Earth? Fifty times? Over a hundred? It must be some absurdly high number, because I don't even need to watch where I'm going anymore. I can keep my head downcast, able to watch the cracked pavement on the sidewalk pass under me, my feet knowing exactly where to go. It's a little embarrassing, I guess, but that's fine . . . it'll give me a little time to think about the recent turn of events. _

So, after two and a half years of being gone, he's finally come back and is most definitely up to something . . . something to do with aflatoxin, I assume, but what? Naturally, it must be something dangerous that I can't let him get away with, once more going unnoticed to the eye of the unsuspecting people I've defended. Another thing I'd really like to know is why he seems so different. The Zim I remember didn't seem so . . . venomous. Mean, yes, but not venomous. And the way he spoke to me, the way he just glared . . . unnerving, to say the least. I didn't like it. Not at all. What happened to all the pride, all the energy he used to put into simply making a jibe at humanity? Or at me, for that matter . . .? 

All of this hostility . . . maybe it's an act to keep me wondering. You'd think that after being away for so long, he'd have something to say, wouldn't you? Some taunt to let me know that he's back and there's nothing I can do to stop him? . . . not that I wouldn't be able to, of course. It's purely aggravating not knowing what's going on, though. And his eyes . . . I wonder if eyes are truly the window to one's soul. Heh, do aliens even have souls? Well if so, what I saw—though I'm not sure what it was; intense malevolence . . . possibly hurt?—startled me. 

And what am I supposed to do when I get to his base, if it's even there? 

Am I crazy for just going off with no plan and not even a simple water gun in my pocket? 

How will I get in . . .? 

What will I say . . . 

All these things I should've thought about. 

Shut up, Dib. You think too much. You're here, anyway. 

Eyes still downcast to the dampened pavement below, Dib cut his thoughts short when he came to the familiar location where a little green house once stood. He found himself unable to bring his gaze up, afraid of what might _not_ be there, though he knew the fear was childish. He chided himself for it, after. Even if the base wasn't there, it had to be somewhere not too far away, right? Zim attended the same school as he, for goodness sake, so the alien must be based somewhere close by. 

He nervously bit the inside of his cheek. "If it's not there when I look up . . . I swear, I'll find it. You can't hide from me, Zim." 

Slowly, Dib brought his eyes up, skimming over a little yellow fence and a flag that stood behind it, reading: I 'heart' Earth. Beyond that, many lawn ornaments adorned the yard, from a flamingo and an odd puffer fish to field of eerie gnomes that appeared to be guarding a path . . . a slightly jagged path leading to a familiar green house. 

"It's here!" he shouted, the pure surprise and excitement he felt making themselves evident in those two little words. He let out an unwelcome giggle and quickly clamped his hands over his mouth, instead settling for a delighted grin. Finding himself in an elated haze, he mindlessly walked in the yard by way of the gate and passed through the gnome field, absently noting that they did nothing in response to his presence. Such a thing briefly snapped him back into reality and he turned on his heel for further investigation. 

The gnomes sat motionless, still rooted in the same position they'd been when he first entered. Just to make sure, though, Dib conducted a test that consisted of jumping and flailing his arms wildly in front of the gnomes, baffled when they merely sustained their blank stares and immobile stances. 

He scratched his head, astonished. It was impossible for the defense systems not to see him; he'd grown a considerable two inches, after all. "Weird . . ." With a shrug, he resumed his previous march up the two small steps and stopped at the door, blankly staring at the men's restroom sign, pondering his next move. "Heh, what am I going to do? Knock on the door? Ohh, lovely plan, Dib . . ." Chiding his stupidity, he looked to his left. "The window! Always a good source for base infiltration." After making his way to said window, he cautiously peered through, noticing that the TV was turned on, but nobody seemed to be present in the living room. 

"Still looks the same . . ." A strange sense of nostalgia overcame him, but he quickly shook the feeling away. What a stupid time to reminisce. He began lifting the window, finger tips all a-tingle, but halted midway when he felt a jolt and heard a creaking sound coming from beneath his feet. He looked down, blinking repeatedly, coming to the slow realization that the grass he stood upon was actually covering a trapdoor that happened to be opening . . . 

"Hey . . . that's new," he managed before the hatch opened entirely. As he fell, he managed to hook his fingernails into the dirt, struggling to hold on, yet fate seemed to conspire against him. The roots in the grass gave way and he went plummeting below. 

He slid through some enormous tubing, twisting, turning, and winding his way below ground level at a relatively fast pace, his boots scratching against the metal in a pitiful attempt to slow his speed. Just when he was beginning to wonder exactly how far down he was going, his body brutally slammed against a cold metal surface. He hadn't even had the chance to wonder where he was before he found himself constricted by robotic limbs that coiled themselves around his arms, legs, and torso. The grip was loose, but it was enough to keep him constrained. 

He realized that he'd hit the ground pretty hard when he found it nearly unbearable to lift his head from the floor, but it mattered little as the robotic arms hoisted him into a standing position, causing him extreme dizziness. After clearing his head, he tried to keep his blurred attention on anything at all as his vision danced into focus, revealing machinery, laboratory equipment, and computer monitors everywhere. One particular screen stood out; a large one up ahead, emitting bright light in such a dark room. He had to look away, but not before discerning a particular figure standing in front of the monitor. 

"I seriously hoped you'd just take my advice and stay away . . ." That maliciously high-pitched voice could only belong to one being, of course. 

Dib snorted and turned his squinted gaze to the muddled silhouette outlined by the computer's glare, his eyes adjusting to the brightness. "Sure, Zim . . . and let you go ahead and do whatever it is you're doing? Tch, yeah . . . I know you're up to something." 

"The ever-so-observant Dib-human . . ." As the blurry figure drew closer, the shape became more definite, more defined, solidifying into the form of a small Irken Invader, red eyes creased into a vicious scowl. "Aren't I always up to something?" The tone dripped with sarcasm. 

". . .are you making fun of me?" Dib half-expected Zim to say yes and grin evilly as that was something he may have done before, but the reminder that the alien was no longer so immature was quick in coming when his scowl darkened tenfold. 

Dib couldn't help but flinch, his stomach clenching at the look Zim gave. It was so unsettling . . . When the alien gave no response—merely standing there, glowering, hands held behind his back—Dib cleared his throat. He had to say something to break this deafening silence. "So . . . what's your plan this time?" 

"You have no business in knowing." 

"If you think I'm gonna let you get away with this—" 

"You won't get the chance to stop me." 

The interruption caught the human off-guard. "—I . . . what . . .?" 

With a sigh, Zim further neared his captive, casting the boy predatory glares as he brought his hands from behind his back, revealing a small vial filled with a clouded blue substance. "I have no time for this 'cat and mouse' game you like to play. While you may have made things interesting in the past, you're presently a burden that I don't have the patience to deal with." 

". . .what are you going to do?" 

The alien waved the vial in Dib's face. "Make you useful." 

Dib stared curiously at the blue liquid swirling around in the vial before turning his gaze to Zim, the invader now grinning. It wasn't the same old proud, dismissive grin, either; it was much darker, much more wicked. Dib didn't like where this was going, not one bit. Then something occurred to him . . . 

"Is the Earth really this important to you . . .?" 

Zim's grin faltered, his red eyes narrowing, staring directly in the human's. "Eh . . .? Don't try to change the subject with your inferior stinkbeast inquiries . . ." 

Dib had to fight to keep a smile from emerging. He never thought he'd be happy to hear the term 'stinkbeast'; at least _that_ was familiar Zim behavior. "I mean . . . why did you even come back? Is taking over such an 'inferior' planet _that_ meaningful?" 

This seemed to anger the Irken. "It's not about you or your stupid little ball of filth anymore!" 

"Then what _is_ it about?" When Dib received no immediate response, he went on, "Are you out to prove something to someone? Is that it?" 

". . . you think you know so much about me, but you don't, so just shut up." 

Dib smirked. "Did I hit a nerve, Zim? You forget who you're talking to. I watched you for so long, took so many notes, I might just know more about you than YOU do!" 

"I told you to shut up . . ." 

"Did you come back so you could prove to everyone how _great_ you are?" 

Zim growled. "Shut UP!" 

"Did your alien army get tired of waiting on you?" Dib had no idea how close to the truth he actually was, which only fueled Zim's already ignited anger. He had to get the human to shut up; one way or another, he just had to make him stop. Acting on impulse, he struck Dib with a direct blow to the jaw, causing the unprepared human's head to reel back, blood beginning to show itself at the corner of his mouth. Much to Zim's disappointment, though, Dib was still conscious. 

But at least he shut up. 

Astounded at this unexpected outburst, Dib could only blink as he watched the alien tremble with suppressed emotion. 

Zim, scarlet eyes ablaze with fury, pointed a gloved finger at the young paranormalist as if he was about to say something, but briskly shook his head and walked away, jaw tightened, shoulders tensed. He stomped to the nearest wall, leaned against it, and sank to the ground, head downcast, glaring at the floor. 

Dib was entirely taken aback by the whole scene. Obviously something had happened to the invader to make him react such a way . . . But it was none of Dib's concern, right? With nothing more to do, the human began wiggling out of the loose grip the robotic arms had on him, wincing when the mechanical limbs fell to the floor with a loud clatter. After wiping away the blood that trickled down the side of his mouth, he looked at the alien, expecting him to become outraged, but Zim either didn't notice—which was unlikely—or didn't care. 

Now would be a good time to get out, Dib mused, yet he saw no visible exit. With a sigh of exasperation, he let his gaze fall on Zim, just sitting there against the wall, looking so utterly pathetic that Dib almost felt sorry for him . . . keyword being 'almost,' of course. 

His mind raced a mile a minute, weighing his options, trying to figure out what his next move should be. On one hand, common sense told him to get the hell out of there and do it fast, but that was clearly impossible given recent observations. On the other hand, his cursed humanity told him he should at least _say_ something to Zim. In the end, he hung his head in defeat and trod his way to the alien who had yet to move, save for the simple rise and fall of his chest. His humanity won out, of course. After all, that's what he was fighting for, wasn't it? And with no exit in sight, what else could he do? He stopped in front of the invader, waiting for some type of response. 

Zim didn't give any. 

"So . . ." Dib began. "Is that what happened, then?" 

". . . I'll let you live longer if you leave now . . ." 

Ever-persistent, Dib knelt and tried to look Zim in the face, but the alien's head remained down. "Is that what happened?" 

Finally, Zim raised his head, eyes narrowed, but not out of anger. More likely agitation than anything. "Why are you so interested in knowing?" 

"Curiosity?" 

"What is that phrase you Earth worms like to say . . . curiosity killed the cat?" 

"Well . . . I'm not a cat, Zim." 

The alien rolled his eyes and Dib couldn't help but smile just a little. However, he now found himself at a loss for words, having never considered comforting another being one of his strong points, and rightfully so. Scratching his head, he tried to think of a time somebody consoled him. 

Tch, coming up dry, he thought to himself, bitterly. 

As the silence built up, so did the tension, and he soon found himself battling an onslaught of conflicting emotions that shot through his brain, each one shouting an ensemble of thoughts. One told him to take advantage of the fact that the enemy was down and put an end to the threat, while a different one wished for the old Zim to emerge from beneath this malicious creature. Another insisted that he find out the alien's plan before proceeding any further, and yet an additional thought willed him to continue this hesitant comforting attempt. Maybe those last two could be combined, he pondered. Try to find out his plans while remaining reassuring and possibly gain his trust. Yeah, that's perfect. 

Bringing his attention back to reality, Dib opened his mouth to address the Irken, but found Zim's head cast down, eyes trained to the metal floor once again. In order to retain his soothing approach, he tentatively reached out a hand and gently raised the alien's chin to make eye contact, hoping to gain his full regard. When the large, ruby eyes met his amber ones, though, he abandoned all previous thought and instead studied the alien's face. 

For the second time that night, he wondered if eyes were the windows to one's soul. He intently stared into the red orbs before him, searching for anything that could clue him in on the enemy's disposition, and just when he thought he might have seen a hint of sorrow, it was gone in the blink of an eye. In its place, confusion. 

Dib shook his head and pulled away the hand that lingered beneath his rival's chin. He felt his cheeks grow warm and matched Zim's perplexity with an uncertain gaze of his own. He cleared his throat to break the silence; this tension was too uncomfortable. 

He looked to the floor. "Sorry . . ." 

Instantly, the alien's eyes narrowed. "I don't need your pity, you filthy scum!" 

Dib blinked, surprised by the sudden outburst. "Zim, I didn't mean—" 

"Get. Out." 

"But—" 

"NOW." 

"Just, give me a minute to—" 

He was cut short by a laser gun shoved in his face, charged and ready to go. By nature, he wanted to know how Zim had acquired a laser so quickly, but this time, he gave into common sense. There was no time to wonder such things when his life was on the line, so he raised his hands in a defensive manner and slowly stood up. "Okay . . . okay, I'll leave . . . I'm going, see?" He backed away and rapidly glanced around . . . Where the hell was the exit, anyway?! 

"Computer!" Still aiming the laser in the human's direction, the alien's finger danced on the trigger, fighting not to pull it. He continued, his voice echoing his infuriated demeanor, "Take the human to ground level immediately!" 

Before Dib knew it, robotic arms descended from the ceiling and wrapped themselves around him once again, then instantly pulled him upward, passed all the wiring and tubes. 

After watching the human ascend and disappear above, Zim snarled, throwing the laser to the ground. The useless piece of machinery hadn't been charged, anyway . . . Sinking to the hard floor, he let out a ragged sigh, his mind reeling over different notions. He thought about his plans, he thought about his revenge, but mostly, he dwelled on the past and thought about the devastating sadness that was slowly overtaking him. 

Such weakness. 

~ * ~

When Dib staggered through the front door, Gaz was sitting on the couch, dominating her Game Slave 2. 

"Your girlfriend called," she said. "Three times. Sounded pretty pissed, too. Wants you to call her back" 

At the moment, Dib could barely remember he had a girlfriend, let alone her phone number. He responded with an idle 'huh' and crawled up the stairs, believing he heard Gaz mutter something about him looking like hell. Once in his room, he locked the door and collapsed on his bed, mulling over all the events that had taken place within the last day . . . but mostly what had taken place within the last hour. His mind was once again filled with the intense chorus of emotions. 

"What would be the next logical step?" He wondered aloud. His thoughts offered no clear answer as they raised the volume a notch, now a loud clamor quickly pounding his brain into a forceful headache. With an irritated grunt, he pulled the blankets over his head and willed himself to go to sleep. 

Tomorrow would be a day to start anew. 

- end chapter 4 - 


	5. disclosure

Author Notes: I'm not dead! Sorry this took so long, but I reached a severe block... words are starting to flow again, though, so I expect chapter six to be up within the next two weeks. I'm sorry if this chapter seems sort of boring.. though, my beta ensures me that it isn't, I can't help thinking it is. Just think of it as a filler chapter until I get to some more interesting stuff. XD It's also a break from all the seriousness and angst. 

IMPORTANT: I know it's been so long that whoever had been reading this before probably can't remember everything that's happened, but I thought it'd be wise to tell you that I completely revised the ending to chapter four. I didn't like where it was going, and that's one of the main reasons for my block... some small things were changed throughout all the chapters, but those won't affect the plot. The big change is chapter four; no more kiss. It was much too fast. 

Anyhow, I now return you to your regularly scheduled fic. 

  


------  
I'm placeable listen to the dreams you're dreaming  
Untraceable tell me now what are you scheming   
I'm placeable to the place where you most fear   
Untraceable so help me dear  
--Excerpt from "El Cu Cuy," by Coal Chamber  
------ 

- disclosure -

_What am I supposed to do?_

Dib sighed for the umpteenth time, the same question plaguing his mind ever since he'd woken up that Saturday morning. Presently, he was kneeling on the ground, concealed by the tall bushes that grew around him, his brown eyes hidden behind a pair of binoculars that were trained to the little, green house across the street. 

"One more hour gone by," he said to himself, allowing yet another frustrated sigh to escape his lips. Letting the binoculars fall to his side, he plopped himself upon the grass beneath him and reached into his backpack, retrieving a pen and a pad vigorously scribbled with notes. "Three hours total, and I still don't have a plan put together. What the _heck_ am I supposed to do?" 

Different answers were sought to the same query. What was he supposed to do to get into the base? What was he supposed to do to learn Zim's plans once inside? And what was he supposed to do about Zim in general? Although he tried to regard it as the least important question to be asked, the latter issue was the one he wondered about the most. Obviously, the invader had gone through some terrible ordeal during his years of absence, rendering him an entirely different Irken; an Irken who was malevolent and brutal, much more intense than he had ever been in all the time Dib had known him. 

The human shook his head, troubled by the fact that his enemy now seemed quite formidable. He remembered when all the chases and fights, though serious in meaning, seemed like a game, a never-ending competition for dominance and right to gloat. What he faced now appeared to be very crucial and he couldn't help but wonder if he was ready for something so dangerous. 

_If I don't do something, then who will?_

Who indeed. He doubted anyone would ever truly understand the danger Zim posed. 

Beneath his fears and worries, though, there was a layer of sympathy that had been spreading since the previous night. For a split second, Dib knew he'd seen an immense sorrow building in the invader's eyes. Such tremendous grief could hardly go unnoticed, and the human had inexplicably felt the need to know exactly what happened to break the once overly self-centered alien's spirit. It just didn't seem right. Given Zim's present state of mind, however, Dib regretfully suspected he wouldn't be finding out any time soon. 

_Argh, I shouldn't bother with this, anyway!_ He admonished himself. _I should be concentrating on what's important . . ._

Anxiously chewing his pen cap, he regarded the notes on the paper. For three hours, he'd been trying to come up with a way to get into the house undetected, but everything he thought of was much too risky. 

"The window's an obvious no," he said, going through his list of ideas for the tenth time that morning. "And so is tunneling underground . . . his labs are way too far beneath the surface. Drilling a hole into the side of the house would more than likely set the alarms off . . . argh!" Annoyed, he tossed the paper and pen aside and sprawled out on the grass, pulling his hair to the point where it was quite painful. "Maybe I should just go ring the stupid doorbell!" As he continued to rack his brain for ideas, he heard a vehicle stop not too far away. In fact, it sounded like it was right across the street. 

Immediately, Dib sat up, reclaiming the binoculars and placing them over his eyes once more. Parked outside of Zim's house was a Bloaty's Pizza Hog truck. A man carrying four large pizza boxes exited the vehicle, making his way through the yellow gate, past the gnome field, and straight to the steps, where he halted and rang the doorbell. A small creak was heard as the door slowly opened, and into view came a little green dog who instantly clung to the pizza man's leg. 

"Well, at least GIR hasn't changed." Dib noted, a smile tugging at his lips. Then something caught his attention. "Is he letting him into the house . . .?" 

Sure enough, GIR had dragged the man into the house and—from what Dib could gather by watching through the open door—was telling him where to place the boxes. 

A mischievous grin began to play on Dib's features. "I think I might actually have a plan," he whispered. As he watched the man leave the base and drive away, he set the binoculars aside and slowly crawled out of the bushes, scanning the streets for ideas. 

Just a few yards ahead, he spotted a little girl in a green uniform. Red pigtails flip-flopped behind her as she skipped along the sidewalk, dragging a wagon packed with cookie-filled boxes, a nauseatingly sweet smile adorning her face. Dib scratched his chin, thoughtfully. "Am I really that desperate?" he asked himself, observing the innocent girl scout as she went from door to door, selling those awful creations that, for years, had been passed off as edible food substances. With a shrug, he made his way to the nearest clothing shop, muttering, "I'm sure people have done stranger things." He paused, briefly. "I hope." 

~ * ~

Fully covered in grease and cheese, GIR happily downed his final pizza, box and all. As he licked his plush-covered paws, he noticed there was nothing left to eat and his eyes immediately welled up with tears. "My pizza," he whimpered. "I loveded yooou . . ." Suddenly, he let out a burp thunderous enough to shake the entire room. This caused him to squeal and fall into fits of giggles. "YAY, INDIGESTION!" 

Then the doorbell rang. 

GIR sat up and gasped. "GASP! Pig?!" He threw the door open, but alas, Pig was not to be seen. Instead, there stood a tall, slender girl with black, scythe-like pigtails hanging beneath a green beret. Atop her white t-shirt was a green vest, with a matching skirt and stockings, and she wore the most pleasant smile, holding a few boxes in her arms. 

"Hello there, little dog," she greeted, obviously using a falsetto. 

The disguised GIR waved frantically. "HI, DIB!" 

The girl nervously shifted her weight. "You must have me mistaken for someone else," she explained, her voice cracking somewhat. "I'm just a humble girl scout." 

GIR stared at her blankly, tongue lulling out of his mouth. 

Sighing, the girl indicated the boxes she held in her hands, forgetting the falsetto all together. "I sell cookies." 

Suddenly, the green dog let out an ear-piercing squeak of delight and grabbed the girl by the skirt, yanking her through the door. He led her to the middle of what was meant to be a normal family room and specified a spot on the carpet . . . a nice, grease-stained spot. "Put them here!" 

The girl scout hastily dropped the boxes in the designated spot and jumped back as the little dog immediately tore into the first one, shoveling five cookies into his mouth at a time. 

"I wonder where it all goes?" With a shrug, she warily made her way into the kitchen, keeping an eye on GIR to make sure she wasn't being watched. As she rounded the corner, she let out a breath she hadn't even been aware of holding. "I made it in . . . I actually made it in." She grinned and wiped her brow, taking her beret off in the process and pulling out the rubber bands that held her pigtails in place. She twisted her backpack around and placed the items inside, then roughed up her hair until it came together to form a single scythe at the top. Quite obviously, this was not a girl scout; this was Dib in drag. 

Grumbling to himself, Dib reached down and scratched at the stockings that clung to his legs. "How can girls _stand_ these things?" He proceeded to remove the vest and began stripping out of the t-shirt until he suddenly stopped, a blush slowly creeping onto his cheeks. It just didn't feel right to be changing in Zim's house; it made him feel too vulnerable. Throwing the vest back on, he resolved to change as soon as he left the base. 

He scanned the kitchen, well aware that there were several different entrances leading to the labs below. As his gaze fell onto the toilet against the far wall, he shuddered with disgust—the mere thought of flushing himself down that thing was just . . . too . . . icky. With that option being an understandable 'no,' he made his way to the trashcan and flipped the lid off, realizing that, unfortunately, the lift was not there to transport him to the labs. "Zim probably used it earlier today," he mused. "Which means he's down there right now . . ." 

Dib bit his lip and nervously tapped on the side of the trashcan, staring down into the emptiness of the elevator shaft as if it would somehow show him what to do next. 

And in some way, it did. 

A smile brightened his features the minute he caught sight of the small rungs protruding from the wall, more than likely present for emergency use. "And this is definitely an emergency," he affirmed, heaving one of his legs over the garbage can until it was placed firmly onto the top rung. He hadn't realized how difficult that might be with the slightly heeled shoes he was wearing, but he eventually had a secure grip on the ladder and was slowly making his way down the shaft. 

As much as he tried to repress it, a trill of excitement was flowing through his veins, pushing his mindset back by two and a half years. Spying on Zim, infiltrating the alien's base, trying to find out his plans: all were reminiscent of his former obsession, what he once _lived_ for. Suddenly, the past couple years of his life seemed so distant and meaningless, as if they had never even occurred. He hadn't been alive, but merely existing, watching the hours pass and the days go by, waiting for something to fill the void that had so unexpectedly eaten away at his spirit. Now he felt a familiar drive prodding him forward, filling his body to the brim with adrenaline. He felt like he was still eleven years old, there to ruin Zim's plans and be chased away, only to wait for the next night, when the game would yet again resume. 

_But it's not like that anymore,_ he kept reminding himself. 

"Yipe!" A sudden slip caused his mind to jolt back into reality. He looked down to see that the rungs had ended where a pink, translucent tube began. At the bottom of the tube was the elevator lift. 

"Typical Zim logic," Dib grumbled, pulling himself back into a stable position. "Why have an emergency ladder if you have to ride the platform to get to it?!" Immediately, he clamped a hand over his mouth, hearing Zim's voice faintly traveling through the elevator shaft as the alien barked orders at his computer. 

"Great . . . now what am I supposed to do?" More than slightly annoyed at this sudden standstill, Dib was strongly thinking of jumping from the ladder to the ground twenty feet below, but stopped when he spotted a large panel on the wall next to him. Without hesitation, he unlatched it and peered at what the panel had been hiding: it was a duct leading into the immense wiring above Zim's lab. 

Dib smiled as fate seemed to be kind that day. He crawled into the jungle of wires and tubes that were, thankfully, thick and heavy enough to support him and not cause much of a disturbance. As he wriggled deeper and deeper into the mess of pipes, Zim's voice became more clear and definite, demanding items from his computer that were foreign to the young investigator's ears. Further down, Dib came to an opening in the wires, now able to get a clear view of the alien. 

Zim stood before an enormous— 

"Machine?" Dib whispered, not quite sure what the object was, but it was gigantic, letting off a low humming sound that caused the whole lab to vibrate slightly. 

"Computer," the invader bellowed. "Open the doors to the eco chamber!" 

With a hiss, the two massive doors governing the front of the machine slid open. Unfortunately, Dib could not see what was within from his point of view and curiously watched as Zim entered the chamber. On the bright side, however, this gave the human a chance to inspect the rest of the lab. 

Not too far from where Zim had been a moment ago was a table cluttered with sizeable jars and innumerous test tubes, all filled with blue liquids that bubbled from the bunsen burners below them. The boy momentarily trembled, remembering the previous night when the alien had waved a vial in his face. 

_". . .what are you going to do?"_ He'd asked, helplessly. 

_"Make you useful."_

Dib shook the memory away. Whatever was inside those jars was obviously a big part in Zim's scheme and, as the protector of Earth, it was Dib's duty to make sure the plan wasn't seen through. Problem was . . . he still didn't actually _know_ Zim's plan . . . 

What to do? 

Before the boy knew it, Zim was walking away from the chamber and towards the table, his arms full of different vegetables and grains. He set the lot on a chair, picking out a stalk of celery and slowly dipping it into one of the jars of boiling liquid. His face twisted into a wicked grin as the celery gradually melted, causing the liquid to steam and turn a deeper shade of blue. 

"Yes," he urged, his eyes intently focused as each vein lining the vegetable cracked and sizzled, dissolving into nothing. "Spread your disease. Prove them wrong. Prove them all wrong . . ." 

From above, Dib observed the scene in frightened bewilderment. "This sounds very, very bad . . ." 

Caught up in the intensity of the moment, he vaguely heard a flushing sound over the hum of the eco chamber, followed by a squeal as GIR rolled out of a pipe below. The robot, now out of his costume, scuttled around and bumped into chairs, covered from head to toe in chocolate and cookie crumbs. 

"GIR! Watch where you're going! . . . annoying little—" 

"But, master! I'm BLIND!" the little SIR shrieked, wildly flailing a rubber chicken. 

Snarling, Zim threw a rag at the robot's face, quite clearly irritated by his presence. "Your eyes are full of disgusting CHOCOLATE." 

GIR took the rag with his free hand and wiped off his eye lenses, his face beaming as he threw the towel on the floor. "I SEE THE LIGHT!" 

Trying his best to ignore the pure essence of insanity beside him, the Irken let out a deep breath to calm his nerves and reached for the next vegetable, stopping midway when he heard a crunching sound. Without delay, he whirled around and jerked the food from GIR's hands, forcefully pushing the robot back until his bottom hit the floor. 

GIR seemed unfazed, but Zim was seething. "I already told you not to eat these! In fact, I've told you dozens of times! Why don't you listen?! Is your mind so diminutive that you cannot compute the simplest of orders?!" The alien studied the unchanging features of his robot companion before sighing and closing his eyes, gently massaging the sockets. "These are imperative to the plan, GIR. Try to understand that . . . They have a high concentration of aflatoxin and are highly toxic." 

"Will they make me 'splooode?" 

Another sigh. "No, GIR, they won't . . ." 

"Aww . . ." 

"But," Zim added, "if you weren't a robot, you'd be dead." 

Those words caused Dib to gasp, and he immediately clapped a hand over his mouth, hoping that the sound went unnoticed. 

While the alien may have failed to hear, the noise caught GIR's attention. He turned his cyan eyes upward and focused on the spaces between the wires, then frantically waved his hands and yelled, "HI!" 

Zim squinted, casting a suspicious glare at the robot. "GIR . . . who are you talking to?" 

"The girl scout in the ceiling!" 

All at once, Dib pulled back, his breathing stopped, and his heart ceased to beat. He couldn't get caught now, he just couldn't . . . Before he turned around, he caught a glimpse of Zim's red eyes staring directly into his, a look of curiosity and definite intrigue on his face, yet it slowly thawed into anger. As the human tried to remember the way he came, he heard Zim ordering the computer to scan the lab for intruders. Dib quickened his pace, tenfold, crawling over immense tubes and pipes, occasionally becoming tangled in a loose wire. 

"Scanning!" the computer announced. 

Up ahead, Dib saw the outlet leading into the elevator shaft and leaped toward it, pulling himself through at such velocity that he nearly missed grabbing the rungs and just about plummeted into the shaft. Taking a quick moment to steady his dizzying senses and focus his dotted vision, he soon resumed his perilous escape and climbed the ladder just in time to hear the muffled conclusion of the computer's analysis. 

"No intruding life forms present in the lab." 

He stopped right there, on the ladder, the whole severity of the situation catching up to him. He relaxed his head on the rungs, the cool metal soothing the heat that radiated from his skin. His pulse continued to race, as did his breathing, and he had to focus all his will power on holding back the sob that threatened to burst out at any minute. He'd never been scared of Zim. Not like this. 

"Calm down, calm down," he whispered. "I can't let myself get like this . . . he might search the rest of the base . . ." 

Taking a few deep breaths to appease his shaking body, he continued climbing the ladder, his legs weak and wobbly, feeling like jelly. He knew he'd make it out of this, though; there were too many things at stake, too much research to be done. 

~ * ~

"DIB!!" 

The young investigator had fled Zim's base only moments before, and was now nearing his own home, his half-lidded eyes fixed on the sidewalk, his expression dazed. 

"DIB!!" 

He looked up at the sound of his name, his house in plain view as well as the girl standing in front of it. 

Great. 

"Hey, Cil . . ." he greeted, half-heartedly, returning his gaze to the ground. 

The blond seemed offended as Dib proceeded to pass her up and walk to his front door without even a glance. "Hey Cil?" she echoed. "HEY CIL? Is that all you have to say to me?! Where the hell have you been?!" She took a moment to consider the boy's attire. "And what the _hell_ are you wearing?!" 

Dib stopped and examined his outfit: still the little green skirt with matching stockings and vest. It would certainly explain the odd stares he received while walking home . . . Looking over his shoulder, he grinned feebly, his face more than a bit flustered. "I can explain," he began. 

But Cil interrupted. "Please don't," she insisted. "You've been getting weirder and weirder since yesterday, and I could really care less about your retarded hobbies. Enough about you, though. There's an algebra test on Monday." 

Dib nodded. "That's right." 

Blinking, Cil waited for more of a response, but upon receiving none, she placed a hand on her hip and cocked her head to the side, sneering. "Uh, yeah? So did you do the review or what?" 

"Been kinda busy . . ." 

"Busy? What the hell could you have possibly been doing?" 

Dib sighed and looked at the ground, giving no reply. Honestly, he didn't feel like dealing with this now, and he hoped she take the hint and leave, but perish the thought of Cil not getting her way. She moved in front of him, blocking his way to the door. With a pouting face, she wrapped her fingers in the collar of his scout t-shirt and pulled him close, trying to get in his line of vision. 

"Don't you like me anymore, Dib?" 

No answer. 

She pulled him even closer and gave him a soft kiss. When that received no reaction, she teasingly ran her tongue along his lips until he grabbed her hands and pulled away. 

"I don't want to do this . . ." 

Abruptly, she yanked her hands away and roughly shoved the boy, frustrated to the point where her eyes became bloodshot. "What the hell am I supposed to do about the test then?!" 

Dib pushed passed her and opened the front door, pausing in the frame to turn around and glare. "Maybe you should try studying, for once. I'm tired of being used by you, Cil. It's gone on way too long and I don't want to do it anymore!" 

The girl's jaw hung open, quite insulted, shock written plainly on her face. "Are you, like, dumping me or something?" 

Dib seemed to consider this for a moment. "I guess I am," he said, simply, then closed the door in her face. 

She stood there a moment longer, her shock melting into a seething hatred. Clenching her fists together until her knuckles turned white, she kicked at the door. "I'll make you pay for this!!" she howled, then turned around, stomping onto the sidewalk. "I'll _so_ make you pay for this . . ." 

Inside, Dib leaned against the door, a whole weight having been taken off his shoulders. He'd meant to end things a while ago, but at that time, he wasn't even quite sure what he wanted. But it was fine, now. It was in the past, one less thing to worry about . . . 

Lifting his gaze, he saw Gaz sitting on the couch, staring at him somewhat strangely. 

He blushed. "Don't ask," he muttered, referring to his clothes. 

"Wasn't gonna." 

~*~

After taking a quick shower and changing his clothes, Dib sat at his computer, researching all that he could on the properties and uses for aflatoxin. So far, it wasn't very interesting. 

"Aflatoxin is a naturally occurring mycotoxin produced by two types of mold: Aspergillus flavus and Aspergillus parasiticus," he read, drawling monotonously. "Aspergillus flavus is common and widespread in nature and is most often found when certain grains are grown under stressful conditions such as drought. Favorable conditions include high moisture content and high temperature, blah blah blah . . ." He scrolled through the text, but instantly stopped when he saw mention of dreadful-sounding diseases, his eyes widening. "Necrosis? Hepatocellular carcinoma? What . . .?" Still, his eyes widened more when he saw that aflatoxin was a highly poisonous agent— 

"—used in both nuclear and bio-chemical warfare." He blinked, a light bulb immediately illuminating his brain. 

"Oh. Shit." 

- end chapter 5 - 

  


For those of you asking, "Where be mah slash?!" I have one thing to say: I'm a plot*whore. I like to write stories that unfold, not just jump into certain situations for no particular reason. I don't want this story to be about slash. I want it to be about something bigger, which just happens to INVOLVE slash. I don't want to rush into it like I did in the unrevised version of chapter four... just be patient. You'll get a tiny bit of a slash fix in the next chapter. =) 

Unlimted thanks to my beta, Bryan! j00 r0x0r! 


	6. parallel

Notes: It's not necessary, but is recommended that you find and read the script for the cancelled episode of the Trial or some things might not be clear. They're minor things, though, so no worries if you're lazy or have no idea what I'm talking about. 

------  
Just like me  
He's settling a score  
With a world that wants a reason  
Every time you turn around  
Just like me  
He's looking for a door  
Standing open, saying welcome  
Come and lay your troubles down  
Just like me  
--Excerpt from "Just Like Me," by Joni Mitchell  
------ 

- parallel -

55% . . . 

Staring at the large monitor before him, Zim watched intently as the numbers on the screen crept their way up. 

67% . . . 

He nervously wrung his hands. However, that was the only outward indication of his anxiety, for his eyes were emotionless and unblinking, like two precious stones embedded in his skin. 

80% . . . 

On the inside, though, he was trembling. 

92% . . . 

"What's taking so long?!" he barked, his voice piercing the silence, echoing off the metal walls of his lab. In reality, he knew it was taking no longer than it normally did to establish a connection to Irk, but having not done it for so long made the wait seem eternal. The fact that apprehension was currently twisting his organs in knots didn't help, either. He glared defiantly at the numbers, brutally slamming his fists on the console in front of him. 

Finally, the count reached 100%. 

The alien stiffened slightly, momentarily wishing it wasn't too late to cancel the transmission . . . 

After flickering black for a moment, the image on the screen faded to the control room of the Massive, with two tall Irkens sitting in the foreground, staring ahead in shock. 

Zim bit the inside of his cheek as his antennae twitched anxiously, suddenly feeling as if someone had struck him in the throat. It had been so long since last he'd spoken to the Tallest, and to face them now, after all that had been revealed . . . It has to be done, though, he reminded himself, forcing his body to stand as straight as possible. He released a shaky breath and managed to let out a strangled, "Good evening, my Tallest." 

Tallest Red blinked, a nacho inches away from his opened mouth, now dripping cheese onto his robes. "Zim?" he uttered, blinking again. "What . . . How did you . . . Where are you?!" 

Zim's antennae continued to quiver, yet the rest of his body remained still. "On Earth, my Tallest." His voice now came out a bit more confident and steady as he internally repeated to himself just how important it was to make his leaders listen. 

On the other end, Purple lowered his head while massaging his temples. "Zim . . ." 

Going against the control his mind attempted to shove on him, the ex-Invader leaned forward on the console and shouted, with more than a bit of urgency in his voice, "Before you chastise me, at least hear what I have to say! I—" 

A snarl from the crimson-eyed Tallest cut him off. "Zim! You—" 

Gloved fists smashed into the control panel once again. "LISTEN!" The small Irken immediately winced at the intensity of his own voice and the immense hostility with which his leaders were now glaring at him. 

"Are you looking for a pummeling, Zim? I think he's looking for a pummeling," Purple remarked, nudging his partner, who nodded in response. 

Zim took a step back, wishing he could shrink into nothing at that moment. In a show of submission, he laid his antennae flat against his head and looked at his leaders pleadingly—such a show of weakness, his mind admonished. "My Tallest, hear me out . . ." 

The Tallest merely glowered at him in response. 

"I have a plan that is guaranteed to conquer this dirtball of a planet," he continued, tilting his head in hope that his statement may have piqued their interest, but seeing their unchanging expressions caused him to swallow what little confidence he had left. "It'll take a while to complete, but there's no way it could fail. Once the plan is set into motion, it cannot be stopped." 

No response. 

Unnerved by the heavy gaze of his leaders, Zim downcast his eyes, twiddling his fingers as he spoke his next words. "If you . . . if you sent the Armada now, the planet would be weak enough to defeat in a matter of days by the time the ships got here." 

"Okay." 

Zim's head shot up in surprise. Purple was smiling at him cunningly while Red bared his teeth in a frightening grin. 

"Yes, we'll forget all about you being responsible for the deaths of both Tallest Miyuki and Tallest Spork," Purple said. "Oh, and we'll also forgive you for destroying half of Irk, blacking out half of Devastis, and destroying the Megadoomer that was—might I add—_accidentally_ sent to you, and reinstate you as an Invader!" 

"On top of that, we'll let you command your own fleet," Red added, smirking. 

For a moment, Zim felt something old and familiar wash over him, something that made his eyes light up and his finger tips tingle as his antennae rose with his hopes. "Really . . .?" 

"No." 

Cruel laughter followed, and the moment was gone. Refusing to look his Tallest in the eyes, he instead fixed his vision on the fists that were now clenching and unclenching on the computer terminal in front of him—his fists. Examining his hands diverted his mind from the overwhelming contempt he was suddenly feeling, and kept him from acting out in such a way that would only make him appear more foolish. 

"Honestly, Zim," Red began, wiping a tear from his eye as he composed himself. "What's it going to take for you to realize that, well, we don't like you?" 

Zim's jaw tightened, his gaze still locked on his fists. 

The purple-eyed Tallest idly twiddled his fingers, quickly becoming indifferent to the current situation. "I mean, we never really planned on you conquering Earth, anyway, so stop wasting your time." 

"More importantly, stop wasting OURS." 

Without looking up, the short Irken gave a slight nod of his head and used all the strength he could muster to choke out a "yes, my Tallest." Even then, his voice sounded so tiny. 

"Oh, and Zim?" 

His antennae perked up slightly. 

"This time, stay on Earth." 

"And stop calling us," Purple added. "We're pretty busy rulers of the universe, you know." 

As resentment built inside of him, Zim's balled up fists dropped to his sides, aching from claws digging into the palms of his hands. There was an unusual sensation of disdain for his leaders making itself known as he realized the Tallest would not hear his plan nor give him a second chance, and he had to employ all his might not to spit at the screen. Though, inside, he was throbbing with scorn, he managed to retain a somewhat composed exterior, but couldn't help furrowing his brow in the Tallest's direction. "I understand," he muttered, an unconscious edge in his voice. 

His leaders grinned, callously, while Zim practically trembled with antipathy. 

"Good," Red said, reclining in his chair. "Now that _that's _all squared away, who's up for some curly fries?" 

The co-Tallest raised his hand. "Ooo, me! ME!" 

The transmission ended . . . 

. . . And Zim had had it. With a vicious growl, he punched a dent into the terminal and whirled around, scanning the lab for the closest, movable object. His gaze rested on a hover-chair near another computer console and, without hesitation, he darted over and grabbed it, shouting whatever words came to mind. "How _could _they?!" He hoisted the chair behind his head—"They just don't understand!"—shook violently in anger—"They don't see what I'm capable of!"—and hurled the chair into the screen, hardly flinching at all when the contact sent glass shards and sparks flying everywhere, including into his skin and clothes. He proceeded to overturn tables full of test tubes and beakers, oblivious to the crashes they made as they hit the floor; the only sound he heard was his Irken equivalent to a heartbeat throbbing in his head. 

Soon, the entire room was in shambles. Anything not vital to his plan was destroyed, lying in ruins on the cold, metal ground of the lab. He stood over the mess, shuddering in the aftermath of his fury-driven adrenaline rush, staring into the glass at his feet. Hundreds of tiny Zims—scratched and bruised—stared right back. 

"I can conquer this planet with no one's help," he whispered. "Earth can easily be taken over in a few months once the plan is set in motion. It's fool-proof . . ." 

His reflections appeared to mock him. "But is it Zim-proof?" they seemed to say. "Remember, you're nothing. A failure. Someone as short as you could never be destined for anything better than a footrest for the Almighty Tallest." The hallucinated voices sounded eerily like that of his leaders, and even took on the tones of other Invaders he'd known while attending the academy. "You're flawed," they continued. "You're weak." 

"Zim is not weak!!" he hollered, but warm tears were already beginning to well up in his eyes, only fueling his rage. Growling, he kicked the glass shards away, focusing all his hurt on obliterating that which was not useful to him. In his mind, showing—no, _feeling _any emotion that did not pertain to the task at hand was weak. _Pain _was weak, and so it would be converted to anger. Anger was the polar opposite. Anger meant power and power meant determination and determination is what he needed to go through with his plans, to prove the Tallest wrong and show them that he was destined to be an Invader. 

"Zim is not weak," he repeated, pausing for a moment to stabilize his quaking body and steady his staggering breaths. Once composed, he stumbled into the elevator, supporting himself on the translucent wall. "Take me to ground level, Computer." 

As the lift whirred to life and began its ascent, Zim put pressure against his eyelids to relieve the oncoming headache. Deep, purple blood was beginning to dribble from the cuts that lined the side of his face and he idly brushed it away, trying to ignore the sting that came with touching a fresh wound. "I can do this on my own," he reassured himself. "No doubt it'll take longer, but the pitiful humans will be too busy suffering to put up any resistance. Once the Tallest see that I've conquered an entire planet on my own, they'll realize my worth." Somewhere in the back of his mind, the Irken had doubts that his leaders would give him any recognition even if he vanquishd an entire galaxy of planets, but the perpetual megalomanic part of him—humbled as it was—refused to acknowledge these suspicions. There was also a small part of him that wouldn't allow himself to lose faith in the Tallest, the part containing the loyalty that had been drilled into him from day one. 

On ground level, the trashcan in the kitchen popped open as the elevator came to a stop. Zim jumped down just in time to hear the doorbell ring. 

"I'LL GET IT!" GIR, already disguised, announced from his position in front of the TV. He hopped up with a squeak and scampered to the door, all set to open it before he heard a snarl from his master. 

"GIR, do NOT open that door!" 

Cyan eyes turned red as the little SIR saluted. "Yes, my master!" His natural color restored as he ran to the closet where the paternal decoy was kept. "How 'bout this door?!" he asked, not waiting for an answer as he opened the closet and flung himself inside with a squeal, slamming the door behind him. "Hello, cheese sammich! You grew a beard!" 

For a moment, Zim stared at the closet blankly, his eye twitching in response to the madness. He shook his head as the doorbell rang once again, bringing his attention back to reality. Making his way across the room, he stopped at the door, nearly glaring a hole through it as he placed his hand at its center, intent on seeing who the unwelcome visitor was before opening the door. Though, he already had an idea of who it was . . . 

The door rippled around his hand and seemed to fade away, allowing him to see the scowling face of his enemy. 

Zim's eyes narrowed, his own expression darkening. "I knew it . . ." 

Though the alien could see him, Dib could see no further than the door itself. Without a moment's hesitation, he raised a tightened fist and began pounding ferociously at the obstruction, his face flushed with anger. "I know you're in there, ZIM," he bellowed. "I heard you yelling at your robot, so you might as well just open the damned door!" 

Sighing, Zim pulled his hand away and the door rematerialized. "As if I didn't have enough to worry about . . ." Suddenly, his morose countenance turned to one of wicked glee as an arm darted out of his ID Pak and handed him a syringe full of the same blue liquid found in his lab. "No matter," he murmured. He held the needle at eye level, a lopsided grin twisting his features. "The sooner we end this little game, the better." The arm retracted and Zim firmly gripped the syringe, slipping into an aggressive stance. Resting his free hand on the doorknob, he gingerly turned it until hearing the satisfying click, now intent on swinging the door open and stabbing his enemy with the needle. 

What he hadn't counted on, however, was Dib throwing himself into the door before the Irken had a chance to react. He found himself flung backwards, making a loud thud and a few muffled curses as his back collided with the floor. During the fall, the syringe had flown out of his hand and was now rolling away, circling to a stop about four feet from him. Before he could make a reach for it, though, Dib had descended on him like a lion to its prey, securely pinning the alien's arms to the floor. 

"Listen, Zim," the human growled, his face just inches away from Zim's own. "I know what you're planning and don't think for a minute that I'll let you get away—" 

"Impertinent stinkbeast, _release me_!" 

"Let me finish!" Feeling Zim's attempts to break free, Dib applied more pressure, affectively diminishing the Irken's thrashing to a pathetic struggle. "Did you think I wouldn't find out? I mean, you hid it pretty well for a while, but plans to drop nuclear bombs on people wouldn't be able to stay under wraps for long!" 

Zim ceased his escape effort entirely. "Eh?" 

Dib blinked at the clueless expression on the alien's face, quirking an eyebrow questioningly. "What do you mean, 'eh?' Isn't that your plan?" 

Tilting his head to the side, Zim furrowed his brows in a thoughtful manner. "No, but it's not a bad idea . . ." 

Dib inwardly cursed himself, his face glowing with fury at the possibility of giving his adversary ideas. "Then . . . what's the aflatoxin for?" 

A thoughtful demeanor faded to that of a malicious, tooth-baring grin. "Wouldn't _you _like to know." 

The human flinched at the sight, gulping involuntarily. The fear he'd been feeling earlier was now returning with a vengeance, sending a repressed chill down his spine and causing him to become speechless for the moment. What could be said, anyway? And what could be done? He'd went there in blind rage with no weapons or plan of attack—an incredibly stupid mistake on his part. Showing his fear would do no good, though and besides, he was still in a position of dominance. 

That thought caused him to smirk as he dug his fingernails into the Irken's arms, delighted at the wince Zim made. "Whatever you're planning, you know I'll find out about it sooner or later. You never were very good at hiding your schemes, even the good ones—rare as _those _were." 

As much as the words stung, Zim let the boy ramble; he'd learned long ago that Dib's mouth was one of the human's own weaknesses, distracting his mind as he listened to his own, _noble _speeches. Taking advantage of the situation, the Irken slowly snaked a pointed spider leg out of his ID Pak and poised it above his head, preparing it to strike. 

"—and even though a couple years have gone by, don't think I'm not as sharp as I was before—" Dib continued to talk as Zim reared his spider leg back—"No matter what you're going to do, I'll never let you—" and brought it down on the boy's shoulder—"AUGH!"—piercing through leather, fabric, flesh, and tissue before retracting, all done in one, swift motion. 

Cringing, Dib withdrew one of his hands to grab the injured shoulder, surprised to find it already drenched in blood. 

With the boy's attention diverted, Zim wasted no time in putting his newly freed arm to use. He drew back a fist and struck forward with all his might, belting Dib in the jaw so hard, it sent the human hurtling into the door, slamming it shut. 

"Ugh . . ." Still clutching his wound, Dib slid down the door until he was nearly lying on his back, dazedly gazing at the ceiling as a trail of blood slithered down the side of his mouth from Zim's blow. His mind buzzed with a whirl of thoughts, from 'Run!' and 'Strike back!' to 'Just close your eyes,' but his body refused to cooperate with any of them. He merely lied there, groaning as the pain in his shoulder throbbed harder with each heartbeat, vaguely hearing a shuffling sound over the hum in his ears. 

That shuffling was Zim quickly scrambling to his feet and grabbing the syringe from the floor. "You want to know what I'm planning, DIB?" he snarled, spitting out his enemy's name as if it was a rancid food. With an almost cat-like grace, he lunged forward in a blur of speed, immediately coiling his fingers around the human's neck and hoisting him up and against the door. "Why don't I just _show _you?" While one hand busied itself with holding Dib at bay, the other held the needle dangerously close to his throat. 

Zim grinned maliciously, delighting in the strangled whimpers that escaped Dib's mouth. "Poor little Dib, so useless in the eyes of your own people," A short pause as he brought his face inches away from that of his adversary's. "But I can _make _you useful." 

It took most of his strength, but Dib managed to bring his hand up and wrap it around the Irken's wrist, his grasp firm enough to keep the syringe from coming any closer. "What . . . what are you talking about?" 

"You can be my guinea pig," was the alien's threatening reply. "While I'm certain my plan will work, there's no point in taking any chances, is there? Besides . . ." The grin darkened. "I wouldn't mind watching you suffer." 

Dib's hold on Zim began weakening, the pain in his shoulder becoming almost unbearable; he could now feel the blood soaking through his shirt and slowly running down the side of his stomach. In addition, his vision was becoming fuzzy, but he forced himself to look Zim in the eyes, searching for familiarity. 

But there was none. This was not the Zim he knew two and a half years ago. 

In his weakened state, the only thing he could do was wonder, "What happened to you?" 

The question threw Zim off for a moment, but he assumed the boy was referring to the cuts on his face. He frowned disdainfully, applying a bit more pressure to his captive's neck. "I assure you, you have more to worry about than my flesh wounds, DIB-beast." 

Dib shook his head in response. "No, that's not what I mean . . ." At this point, his grip on Zim's wrist was barely a loose grasp, but the alien had made no further attempt to insert the needle; at least, not at the moment. "You're not the same as . . . as you used to be . . . what happened to you?" 

Instantly, Zim's expression grew dim, narrowing his ruby eyes to mere slits. "Oh, you mean the sorry Invader who was sent to a planet no one was even sure existed? The Irken who was given a piece of GARBAGE for a robot assistant? The one who was laughed at behind his back, ridiculed, walked upon, and joked about by his leaders? The one who was NOTHING? Is THAT who you're talking about?" His voice grew louder with each recalled event, but the pain that inevitably accompanied the remembrance of such incidents presented itself as well, forcing him to lower his head for a moment as he composed himself. 

Dib's eyes softened knowingly. "Is that what they did to you?" 

No response. 

The human shook his head to clear the black spots that were beginning to dot his vision. On the bright side, the aching in his shoulder appeared to be dissipating and, in fact, his entire arm was beginning to feel numb. _The latter is **not **a good sign_, he reminded himself, yet the only way he could possibly receive any care for his wound was if he could somehow get away from Zim. Maybe sympathizing would help. "Look, if it means anything, I think I understand what you might be—" 

Zim's head immediately shot up, his hand putting more weight on Dib's neck until he was all but strangling the boy. "No, you _don't_! Do _not _compare your inferior stinkbeast problems to my own! There is no way a substandard little worm like _you _could possibly understand what it's like to be _me_!" He watched as Dib's struggle increased, eyes closed, choked gasps escaping a mouth that was still flowing with fresh layers of blood. He observed, though vacantly, as his mind was busy elsewhere, recalling points in time when the human had been openly mocked and beaten up by his peers—by the very people he was trying to protect. Something suddenly clicked. 

_The human has been through similar experiences_, he thought, mulling over this sudden realization, although it only helped stimulate the resentment towards his adversary. Dib was a _human_, a pitiful, unintelligent, lowly _stinkbeast_; such a second-rate creature could never understand the greater troubles of an Irken. 

_How dare he even **think **of trying to identify with me_! The alien tightened his grip more, triggering a gag from Dib as the color began draining from the human's face. Zim was once again trying to stab the syringe into the paling flesh, but stopped at the last minute, dropping his arm to the side as he studied Dib's flailing form. Further memories filled his mind, recollections of children pointing and laughing at Dib, calling him crazy, taunting him, embarrassing him every chance they got; and yet—despite all of it—the human, this pathetic little _maggot_, continued devoting his time to defending these ingrates. As much as Zim hated to stoop to Dib's level, he had to admit that their situations were quite comparable. "Maybe you do know . . ." 

He released his grip on the enemy's neck and took a step back. 

Falling to his knees, Dib clutched his throat, panting. His vision became darker with each intake of breath and he had to focus all his will on remaining conscious. Luckily, it seemed to be working somewhat at least, being that he could see a _bit _more clearly. Gently, he pulled one side of his trench coat down and tried to examine the injury that lay beneath it, yet could make out no more than a significant amount of wet blood blotting his shirt. 

"So why do you do it?" 

Dib looked up to see Zim staring at him curiously, arms folded. "Why do I do what?" 

"Why do you continue protecting a race that rejects you?" 

Eyesight began fading, once more. The interior of the base became a shadow that framed the alien's figure, but Dib was determined not to break eye contact. "Why do you continue invading for a race that rejects _you_?" 

Zim blinked and turned away, tilting his head thoughtfully. The human had a point, though he wouldn't acknowledge it aloud. It did raise some questions, however. Zim _knew _why he continued with Earth's invasion—to prove the Tallest wrong . . . but once he did that, _then _what? Was he so sure that anything would change at all? "Of course it will," he mumbled, yet that buried feeling of doubt managed to worm its head to the surface and gnaw persistently at Zim's brainstem, causing him to second-guess himself for the first time since revisiting Earth. 

Perhaps this was something he should think about. "I'll save your torture for another night, Dib-thing," he muttered. "You're free to go, for now." 

He expected some kind of response from the human, but received none. 

"Dib-worm?" 

As he turned back to face the boy, he was greeted with sight of Dib sprawled out on his floor, face down, and unconscious, his breaths coming out more than a bit shallow. 

Blood was beginning to stain the carpet. 

- end chapter 6 - 

------ 

Ugh.. I'm sorry. I know this chapter, at times, moves too slow, and at other points, moves too fast. I had two betas, but neither could pinpoint what was wrong with this. I was hoping to hear from Tif before I posted it, but I'll be moving this weekend, the computer will be gone, the cable modem will be disconnected, and I have no idea when I'll be online next. I wanted to post this before TOO much time passed.. Anyway, like I said, I'm sorry for this chapter's suckiness and I SWEAR I will make it up next chapter. 

Thanks to Bryan and KelseyChan, as well as Tif for beta reading the first half. I wish I could have waited for you to get to the rest! 

SO! What IS that blue liquid that keeps popping up everywhere? What will happen to poor, blood-deprived Dib? And will GIR ever come out of the closet?! Find out in the (hopefully) more exciting chapter 7 of Something More! YAY! 


End file.
